


Show Me

by SittingOnACornflake



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Getting Together, Hair-pulling, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Slow Build, Smut, also let's imagine George was the first to come up with the word McLennon okay, catch me trying to figure out if a blow job is explicit content, god i wish this is not too bad, i don't know if there's a plot, i reread it like a hundred times, if by slow build you mean the smut only happens in the second half, to be meant to write smut or not to be meant to write smut, yeah that's my question and i'll leave you to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24411007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SittingOnACornflake/pseuds/SittingOnACornflake
Summary: George just discovered about Paul and John's relationship and he's really happy about it. Too bad Ringo is here to witness his elation.
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 14
Kudos: 62





	Show Me

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this sitting on a boulder between two fields. I swear it's true. I went there three days in a row to get this thing out of my system. I don't think I'll ever go there again without thinking about it!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you'll like it!

George rushed in the hotel room and slammed the door close behind him. He took the time to turn the key twice, then took it and let it fall on the ground. The sound was muffled by the thick carpet covering the tiles. _Who puts goddamn tiles in a hotel room anyway?_ was the thought that crossed his mind before he dismissed it. He spun on his heels and scanned the empty room, a shit-eating grin creeping on his face.

There were a double bed and two suitcases discarded in a corner. His already open guitar case lay on the floor. There was a chair matching the tiniest desk next to a window. The shutters were closed; so were the curtains. _Good._

George huffed a laugh he'd been holding in for the last two minutes. He _needed_ to be a bit more patient. Just a bit.

He eyed the closed door on his right that led to the bathroom. He should have opened it and made sure this area was clear as well, but he didn’t have the strength. Instead, he called, “Ritch? Are you in here?”

He didn’t receive any answer. He counted to ten in his head, but no sound came from there. Neither could he hear anything from the hallway.

He was alone.

A giggle escaped him and he tumbled towards the bed until he could throw himself on the mattress, messing up the sheets as he did so but not caring in the slightest.

“Oh God,” he panted between two fits of laughter. “I was right. All this time, I was right. I can't believe I was right.”

He grabbed one of the soft, feathery pillows and buried his head in it, trying to even his breath but failing completely.

“That’s ... absolutely ... great news,” he wheezed, so short of breath that he needed to stop between every word – the fact that he was still laughing didn’t help.

“George?”

_That_ certainly sobered him up in a blink. He took a deep breath and rolled on his back, looking up to see Ringo standing in front of the now open bathroom door, only wearing a towel around his hips. George raised an eyebrow as he took in his bandmate's almost naked state and his damp hair. “Very fitting,” he commented as a new giggle shook him.

“Is it one of these days when you only speak by riddles?” Ringo asked, unbothered but still looking puzzled.

“It’s not riddles. It's crystal clear, my friend, and more so today than ever.”

“You’re doing that on purpose, just to make me ask,” Ringo said as he turned his back to him and bent over his suitcase, opening it and rummaging for clothes. “Okay, I’ll play along. What's this great news you've been laughing about?”

This made George smile manically. Even though Ringo couldn’t see him, he rested himself on one elbow and raised his other arm towards the drummer, pointing a finger at him.

“You! You can ask as many questions as you want but I won’t answer them. I asked if you were here and you didn’t answer. You weren’t supposed to be here. It's all your fault if I’m not having a laugh on my own without disturbing anyone.”

Ringo turned around, a bunch of clothes scooped up in his arms, and smiled when he saw him. “You’re incredible. If it's good news, why don’t you want to share?”

George tilted his head to the side, acting as if he was considering it when, in fact, he was determined to _never tell him, never, whatever may happen, because it's not mine to tell and he wouldn’t understand, and-_

“Well?” Ringo asked.

“Because it makes _me_ happy, but it wouldn’t make _you_ happy,” was the answer he finally settled for.

Ringo creased his deep blue eyes at him and George averted his gaze for a second. When he looked at him again, Ringo had come over to the bed and put his stack of clothes at the end of it. He retrieved a pair of briefs from the pile and put them on, masterfully managing to wiggle his way in them without letting the towel fall nor displaying any offensive bit of flesh. George nearly rolled his eyes disapprovingly at that, only to refrain at the last moment. Ringo didn’t know he liked to stare, after all, and even if he knew it, he wouldn’t like it – just as he wouldn’t like the news George had just stumbled on.

“Try me,” Ringo said when he was done. He reached out for a shirt and George grimaced. Here were all his plans of endless silence, of caring friendship, all shattered in a second because _maybe, if I tell him, he'll be too busy to put that damn shirt on, and then I’ll get one more minute, or even two, to thirst over his chest_ , and God wasn’t it a fair bargain? His friend's secret against a few more glimpses of Ringo’s half naked body.

George let himself fall back against the pillows, defeated.

“It’s real,” he said, letting out his secret with these two words. Thinking about it made him giggle again. “It’s real!” he exclaimed.

“What’s real?” Ringo asked.

Looking at him only added to George's hilarity: his plan had worked perfectly. Ringo still had his shirt in hand, but he hadn’t put it on and, with what was coming, George just _knew_ it would soon lie forgotten on the floor. Whatever Ringo’s reaction might be, surprise would be a part of it, because _apart from me, no one noticed anything, and even now I’m the only one to know._

“McLennon. McLennon is real,” George drawled. He grinned at Ringo, only to find his friend more befuddled than before.

It wasn’t the ship name, however, that puzzled Ringo. _He's used to making up words himself,_ George realized. _He doesn’t get the implications of it._

“Paul and John? Yeah, they sure are. John’s the only one who thinks nothing is real, you know.”

“I’m sure he bloody well knows _this_ is real,” George smirked.

“But what's _this_?” Ringo said, fiddling with the hem of his shirt although still not putting it over his head.

“They ...”

George genuinely, truly did want to tell Ringo. True, he didn’t know how his friend would react when confronted to McLennon. He wasn’t absolutely sure Ringo would take it well. After all, he'd only seen Ringo express his opinion on gays twice and it had been in the form of quick shrug, evasive though not unfriendly.

Still, he wanted to tell Ringo. Yet he couldn’t. As soon as he tried to say “are” he laughed his head off again and choked to top it off.

“Is it something happy or funny?” Ringo asked, finally putting his shirt on. The gesture helped George regain the faintest appearance of composure.

“Both. I only think it's funny because it means I'm not ...” George fell silent. He'd meant to say _the only one_ , and mentally slapped himself. He was about to make his two friends come out, but there was no way he was going to come out at the same time. Especially to the very person he was interested in.

“You’re not funny?” Ringo repeated.

“You don’t get it,” George shook his head and hid his eyes under his left arm – why would he look at Ringo now that he had clothes on? It wasn’t worth it. Seeing Ringo when he was clothed always led him wishing for more, and he didn’t feel like going through the disappointment again. Now was a time to rejoice! _John and Paul, together, for_ _music’s sake!_ He needed to focus on other people than Ringo for once.

_But he still has no trousers on_ , his mind supplied. He groaned but sat up nevertheless.

“I don't, but you're certainly not making this easier,” Ringo reminded him, patient as always.

_I love him so much for this. He's so kind._

“Sorry. Paul and John are ...” he began. But, again, he found himself unable to finish his sentence. It simply was too much joy. He felt happy for his friends, happy for himself because he wasn’t the only queer in the band, happy because he'd guessed right.

“Listen, I'm trying, but I can’t,” he said, his voice raspy now. “I’ve told you McLennon is real, can't you guess the rest?”

Ringo gave him a deadpan look. “No.”

George tried to look disappointed and failed. He couldn’t wipe the obnoxious smile off his face. “Okay. I was trying to sneak back in the hotel from the back door, because I didn’t want Brian to know I’d gone out ...” George said, trying another approach, but this time it was Ringo who cut him off.

“Oh, he knows you were out. He was looking for you about an hour ago. I think he went out himself afterwards.”

George chuckled at the mental image of Brian finding his two bandmates like he had. “Anyway, I passed an alley and Paul and John were there, and they were …” Another fit of giggles seized him. “No, really, I can’t. I can't tell you, it's ...”

“Show me,” Ringo interrupted him.

“What?” George’s eyes widened but Ringo didn’t pay attention to him and sat on the edge of the bed next to him.

“Show me,” he offered. “You seem unable to tell me, and I'm curious now. What were they doing?”

“You really have no clue, do you?” George said. Ringo shook his head. “Then trust me, you don’t want me to _show_ you that.”

“Did it make you happy or not?” Ringo huffed. George could tell his friend was slowly getting impatient, which wasn’t surprising – and yet, he couldn’t afford to give in.

“No! Well, yes, but not in _that_ way!” he said, frustrated because he perfectly knew he made no sense.

“Just show me and I’ll tell you if it made me happy or not,” Ringo said, staring at him intently. George knew he was defeated. Again. He couldn’t do anything but cave. He'd show Ringo because he'd asked. He just hoped he wouldn’t lose his friendship because of it.

“I don’t think it'll make you happy,” he muttered. “I don’t even think it'll make you gay.” He got up and motioned a hand towards the drummer. “Come on. I'll show you.”

“Where are we going?” Ringo asked, reaching for his trousers that were still waiting in the other side of the bed.

“You won't need them, I can assure you,” George said, grinning despite the anxious twists his stomach made. “Just ... Stand in front of the door, okay?”

Ringo immediately did as he was told and George eyed him from head to toe. Ringo’s hair was still a little wet from his shower, and his fringe fell on his eyes instead of just lightly covering his brows. His friend’s eyes were locked on him unsuspecting. The shirt he'd put on earlier was a plain white one. Its stomach area was rumpled from the time it had spent in a bag. George felt the weird urge to smooth out the creases. Instead, he said, “Just remember you can’t be mad at me, because you asked for it, right?”

“Sure.”

_I wish I could be so sure myself._ George's heart jolted in his chest but he took a deep breath, along with a step forward. He was now inches apart from Ringo, who looked up at him, not breaking eye contact. George gritted his teeth.

“They were ...” he said, briefly shutting his eyes close to recall the scene in all its details.

He moved his left leg and pressed it between Ringo's thighs. He heard him gasp but paid him no mind and circled Ringo's back with one hand, not quite daring to put it as low as he'd witnessed.

“They were exactly ...”

He moved forward and tilted Ringo's chin up a bit more so he could nuzzle his neck. He let out a shaky breath against the hot skin. He wanted to kiss it, but he was only there to show, not to taste. He took a quick step back and threw his hands in the air. Laughing was the last thing he felt like right now.

“They were like that. But you can’t be mad at me.”

Cheeks flushed, he glanced at Ringo and found him staring right at him, agape and lips slightly parted. George turned away and picked up Ringo’s trousers, throwing them at him. “I guess you can put these on now.”

Ringo let them fall on the carpet.

“So Paul and John are together?”

“Yes!” George said, relieved that Ringo was taking everything so well. “That’s what I was trying to say.”

Ringo nodded thoughtfully. A couple of seconds passed before resolution flashed on his face.

“Did they strike a pose for you?” he asked calmly.

“God, no! They didn’t see me. I turned away and left. Didn’t want to ruin the moment,” George said, cracking open his own suitcase and aimlessly disorganising his belongings.

“George, it's your turn to not understand.”

“Well, then you'd better tell me or even show me what you mean,” George spat. It was meant as a joke but came harsher than intended – mostly because he was too focused on hiding something embarrassing. He couldn’t afford to be _turned on by that, George, come on_. He couldn’t afford to let Ringo of all people know he was turned on, especially after having done so little.

“I’ll show you,” Ringo said, making him jump. “Come back here.”

George slowly turned to face him again. He intently stared at his face, trying to determine whether he was taking the piss. But he knew Ringo – too well, and too little sometimes too. The drummer was serious, and he was waiting, still standing against the locked door.

George made his way back in front of him and awkwardly settled at a two feet distance.

“What now?” he said, trying to smirk.

“Put your hands and leg back where they were,” Ringo instructed him.

George could have sworn that his brain disconnected when he heard that. Still, he complied again, because it was Ringo. He'd always do what he wanted; he couldn’t help it. The fact that he was aching from the want also played a part.

A few seconds later, his head was hidden again against Ringo’s neck. He stilled, waiting for something to happen.

“What I mean,” Ringo whispered, “is that they didn’t strike a pose for you.”

George suddenly felt two hands cup his bottom before sliding up to the small of his back.

“They weren’t immobile. They were moving the whole time.”

With that, Ringo turned his head and gently kissed the top of George’s hair.

“So I'd say that you didn’t show me right.”

George shuddered. “You ... You ...” He tried to say something, anything, but couldn’t bring his brain to function properly. The smell of Ringo's shampoo combined to the heat radiating from his thinly covered body was intoxicating. _I have to take a step back_ , George thought in a daze.

He forced his hands to let go and moved his legs away, immediately feeling cold. He lightly shook his head, disbelief taking possession of his mind by the minute.

“That ... That was unexpected.”

He cringed at himself but tried to act casually until he could analyse what had just happened. He was utterly confused about it. Did it actually mean something to Ringo? Was he only joking?

“No, I'm not,” Ringo said out of the blue, as if he was answering his question, _which was impossible because he had not voiced it_.

“I’m sorry?”

“I felt your ... Never mind. I thought I felt something hard brush against my thigh but it seems I was wrong. Never mind. Just forget it.”

George opened his mouth, but to no avail. He couldn’t talk, just stare at Ringo as his friend said words that were so out of character that they belonged to one of his fantasies.

He let his gaze wander a bit lower than Ringo's rumpled shirt and realization struck him. There was definitely a bulge in his briefs. His lack of trousers didn’t allow any other interpretation, even to the most resourceful imagination.

“Don’t worry,” Ringo blushed, following his gaze and mistaking his reaction. “I’ll leave you alone. I can even sleep on the floor, or I'll trade with Paul or John.”

Confidence and elation rushed through George's veins. He smirked, “You didn’t pay attention, did you? McLennon is real. You'd better not go to their's, or you'll find them like this ...”

He crossed the room once again, hoping it would be the last time he let go of Ringo that night. He slowly put his hands on Ringo's cheeks, enjoying the touch, and brushed his thumb against his chin. He waited for a split second, just to make sure the other didn’t want to back out. As nothing happened (or was his rushed heartbeat something?), he leaned in and pecked Ringo right on the lips. He felt Ringo exhale and he smiled, joining their foreheads.

“I’ve liked you for a long, long time,” he mumbled, “but I never thought this would happen.”

Two hands crept up his chest and locked around his neck.

“Maybe – and I say maybe – you were too keen on spying on McLennon to notice anything else.”

_Anything else_. These last two words echoed in his mind, distracting him from the fact he would have wanted to discuss in any other case – i.e., the fact that Ringo had used the term _McLennon_. George had made it up himself and never shared it with anyone before. Maybe he hadn’t been the only one to notice something was up between their two bandmates. It would have to wait, though. For now, his own _something-is-up_ required all his attention.

“So you really like me?” he asked. He needed to be sure.

Ringo let go of his neck and grabbed his hips instead. He switched their positions so that George was trapped between him and the door. Ringo didn’t leave any space between their bodies, and George felt something hard against his lower half.

“See what you do to me?” Ringo said in a low voice.

A whimper escaped George’s lips but he tried to keep in control. He successfully refrained from bucking his hips and let out, “I don’t wanna do this ... if it's only lust. I don’t wanna ruin everything between ...”

_God, it seems I won’t be able to finish a single sentence tonight_ , he thought with frustration as he was cut off once again. However, he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t glad of this peculiar interruption, as Ringo brought their lips together in a passionate kiss. Warm lips pressed with force against his. George felt his eyes close and his whole body let lose as he let Ringo take control and _show him_ what he couldn’t say with words. Teeth lightly bit his lower lip and he happily allowed them access to his mouth.

Their teeth clattered messily as they both got used to the kiss. Soon George was too engrossed by the addictive way their mouths and tongues touched to remember the doubts he'd expressed minutes before. A disappointed whimper escaped him when they parted, out of breath.

Ringo brought a hand to his face. “I like you a lot, and I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

“Sappy,” George commented, grinning.

“I could also say there are far too many things I wanna do with you.”

“Pick one and show me,” George teased before he exclaimed, “Hey! Put me down, you ...”

But it was too late. In no time he was gently laid on the bed and Ringo crawled on top of him.

“How were even you able to lift me off the ground?” George asked in disbelief.

“You’re skinny, love,” Ringo retorted, clearly pleased with himself. “Don’t underestimate my skills.”

“Feel free to show off,” George said, and let his head rest against the pillow that had muffled his laughter earlier. The thought that it may now muffle his moans turned him on even more than he already was. He arched his hips and his crotch met Ringo's through his jeans.

“Wait,” Ringo shushed him, leaning in for another kiss. He then trailed kisses along his cheek and jaw. Butterfly kisses on his neck made George giggle in a faint reminder of his previous laughter, but Ringo wasn’t having any of it and began to suck a particularly sensitive spot there, his left hand trailing up and down George's body at the same time.

They made out for a couple of minutes, letting the tension pool in their bodies and the want slowly cloud their minds. It was only interrupted when Ringo suddenly chuckled.

“I didn’t know you were ticklish,” George said against his neck – he hadn’t been able to resist and had flipped them off, wanting to suck on Ringo's neck too.

“I just thought that tomorrow the four of us will be able to compare the hickeys on our necks. But don’t stop!”

George giggled in answer and tugged at the hem of the drummer's shirt. “Take it off?” he begged.

The shirt was discarded far away from the bed and George could only marvel at Ringo’s chest, feeling blessed. It was the first time that he could stare without having to hide it. He took his time, trying to remember everything. From as long as he could remember, he'd been attracted by Ringo's chest. Now that he was allowed to, he didn’t fail to cover it with kisses, going down so slowly that he was sure it felt like hell to the other man – but he wanted it to feel that way.

Maybe he himself was too eager, though. Before having processed what he was doing, he was no longer leaving kisses on Ringo's stomach. The man's clothed erection was closer to him than he'd ever have thought possible. He experimentally kissed it and felt it twitch through the thin fabric. Ringo's hips followed him when he moved a few inches away from it. The movement made them both moan at the same time.

“Wait yourself,” George said. “Just freeing you of these.”

He took off his own shirt before sliding down Ringo’s pants. The drummer's fully hard cock sprang free. George felt like he could come only from the sight and licked his lips in anticipation.

“Have you ever done this?” Ringo asked him, distracting him.

“Actually, no. Have you?” George asked.

Ringo shook his head and George smiled. “Let’s find out if I’m good at this.”

Ringo let out a low growl and grabbed his arm, pulling him into a messy kiss. George broke it after a few seconds, lowered his eyes and settled between Ringo's thighs. He brought up a finger to trace the outline of the cock in front of him before allowing himself one second to think about what he was about to do. He swallowed expectantly, then brushed off every distracting thought. He wanted Ringo to feel good and it was all that mattered. Not waiting any longer, he closed his mouth around the shaft and let his tongue flick around it. Ringo’s hands immediately found their way to his hair, tugging on a few strands. George smiled widely, eliciting a moan from the man sprawled out beneath him.

“God, George, you’re so good at this.”

George couldn’t deny the praise went straight to his cock, but he didn’t agree and released Ringo's member. “I haven’t done anything yet,” he reminded him earnestly.

“Which is why you shouldn’t stop,” Ringo retorted, his tone pleading.

_Fair._ George took back him back in his mouth, this time trying to take in the most of Ringo's length as he could.

He guessed his eagerness made up for his lack of technique, for Ringo soon squirmed under him, letting out moans. His hands seemed to have a life of their own as they pulled and twisted in George's hair at the most unexpected moments, and George certainly wouldn’t lie. It did make his own hardness almost painful. Sucking Ringo off was one of the hottest things he'd ever experienced.

When his mouth began to feel sore, he decided to focus on the tip again and covered the rest of Ringo's length with his hand. He jerked him off for while, letting the pace build up more and more.

“George,” Ringo moaned, his voice so low it strangely echoed in his ears. George took it as his clue that the drummer was about to come. In response, he teasingly flicked his tongue around the shaft once more and hummed. Ringo didn’t need more. His hips bucked and he came with a cry, shoving the rest of his member in George's mouth. George swallowed as much he could, finding the taste even more of a turn on.

“I really like you, you know,” he said fondly when Ringo was done, letting go of his cock and kissing the inside of his thighs.

“Me too,” the other man babbled, still high on his orgasm. “Love you very much, Georgie.”

George wanted to give Ringo the time he needed to recover, but he also felt desperate for any kind of friction. He brought one hand to his crotch, palming himself through his jeans, shuddering at how good it felt. He must have been less discreet than he thought, because Ringo half lifted his head from the pillow, blue eyes with wide pupils peering into him.

“Come here,” the smaller man said, opening his arms.

George immediately crawled up, letting Ringo kiss him. Languid at first, the kiss soon became more passionate, as if Ringo could sense he needed it.

“What’s it like? To taste yourself?” George asked when they parted, both gasping for air.

“I like it,” was the answer he got. “But let me show you, eh?”


End file.
